


Sunday Morning

by AnonAnton



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Coffee Shops, Gen, Gen or Pre-Slash, Writing Exercise
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-11
Updated: 2016-05-16
Packaged: 2018-06-07 19:25:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 991
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6820999
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnonAnton/pseuds/AnonAnton
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This started out as a personal descriptive writing challenge on <a href="https://anonymousantonym.wordpress.com/2016/05/05/may-writing-challenge/">my blog</a>. It kind of turned in to a descriptive bit of writing which used Cas and Dean as the subjects, and ended with a tiny bonus chapter. There are five super short bits of writing.</p><p>Er, that's it really. Cas & Dean in a coffee shop.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Place

It was thick and heavy, the air, a physical thing. A hazy quality infused with warmth and steam, breath and humans. Condensation obliterated the view through the windows and trickled down in small rivulets, racing to the sill until hands squeak across, ruining the display and making small portals to the outside world. The room was filled with a solid wall of people being alive, existing together in one place. The buffeting comfort of shoulders and knees knocking, of people flashing smiles and apologies and annoyed looks behind them as they pass, paper cups in hand. There were the strands of soft guitars and quiet vocals flowing in to the room, weaving between people shouting and giggling, holding them together as they talk about their day, their week, their boyfriends, their mothers and their cats. The aroma of damp coats and soggy woollen scarves, mud and snow, coffee and cake surrounded the space, swirled up to the ceiling and stuck to rosy cheeks and wind blown hair. The chink of cutlery, crockery and bubbling laughter rose with the steam and mixed with aromatic tea and gingerbread and warm milk. It added to the noisome fug of the cosy room. The creek of faux leather defined the soft comfort of relaxing back in anticipation. The chipped and well loved table top, firm and smooth beneath hands waiting for a spill of coffee, a dusting of sugar, and the wipe of a well used cloth. His favourite coffee shop sank in to him like an old friend at his side.


	2. The Colour

From afar it was easy to dismiss the complexity as simply green or hazel. A single word was not enough to explain the enrapturing depth that they held. A single colour could not accost and hold attention, a single colour could not contain such warmth nor such censure. 

Encircling the whole was a heavy ring, just the colour of a mountain-side forest of blue spruce seen through early morning winter fog. Contained within that, bound and held by it was a lively mix of greens the colour of freshly unfurled hornbeam leaves in spring and damp moss in autumn, rich and earthy. Flecked through, sunk so deep it seemed to pierce the soul, was a green the colour of ill looking thunder clouds caught by the sun in the evening and rough cut diopside. Jauntily sitting atop the matrix were tiny flashes of the blue-green of burning copper and the gold-green of cat's eyes.

 _Simply green_ just didn't do justice to the eyes that held his entire being in their glorious gaze.


	3. The Person

It wasn't just appearance; dark blond hair; short and swept up a little. Green eyes, freckles and scruffy stubble. Broad chest, strong arms. Lithe waist, narrow hips. Bowed legs. Those were inescapable, true. As were the obligatory black t-shirt, flannel shirt and army surplus jacket. Faded jeans and heavy boots completed the look. 

That was all just what he looked like, the surface. The man was so much more than that. 

His dirty, dark blond hair bleached out in the heat and sun of summer. He looked like a 90's reject after getting caught in a downpour, his hair wet and straggling, and ever so adorable. His eyes held everything that he was or could ever be. They spoke every emotion that he never could himself. They laughed when he refused and cried without tears. His freckles, accentuated his pale skin and darkened by the sun, spoke of the boyishness you'd never uncover by accident. His stubble, softer than you'd think, could tickle your fingertips, your lips, the inside of your thighs. His strong body backed up his emotional strength. Brooding and stoic, practical and quick to anger, violent and capable.

What you couldn't hope to fathom from his appearance alone was his sweetness, his child like glee, his intelligence, his perceptiveness. He could hold your face in his calloused hands and kiss you to stupidity. He could knock his shoulder against yours while cooking dinner and in that one action tell you just exactly how he feels. He cares and gives and helps and holds. He never asks although he should learn to.

His hardened exterior truly is only his surface. The man is learning to accept him self, and one day he'll say he loves rather than he needs.


	4. The Feeling

_It's almost raw the way I can feel about him, I am past being able to turn back now. I am in too deep, yet I am not sure what I feel, truly. Does it count as love when the man infuriates as much as he soothes. Irritates and humours. But he fits. Despite differences, the disparateness of our natures, he is there, beside me, and it works. Without him I would still be me. There would not be a hole where he once stood, yet I like being able to tease and mock, laugh and hold hands, smile and cry, hold and rest. From one minute to the next I don't know what I feel, but I feel my life would be poorer without him._

_And, in fairness, when he is there, and present and on form, none of this matters. Because it is him who is there with me, smiling and being him right there, next to me. Mine._


	5. The Meeting

Cas let out a deep sigh as Dean sat down next to him holding out the white ceramic mug filled with the best coffee in town. His smile was mildly annoyed, having had to push his way through the crowd to reach their seats, but it warmed when it rested upon Cas' face. 

“Hey.”

“Hey.” His eyes crinkled. “Here you go.” He leant across and kissed Cas firmly on the lips before leaning back and taking a sip of his own coffee, sighing in pleasure while the snow whipped against the windows. All of Cas' thoughts left his head in favour of watching his boyfriend just exist beside him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have a [Tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/anonymousantonym) account if you'd like to see art, sneak peeks of writing, and general nonsense too.


End file.
